


exigency

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: (s), Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Anal Sex, Blanche uses she/her but shes a man, Crystal Exarch WoL, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Human Genitalia, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, mute character, oops all porn, scalie man has 2 dicks, the lizard man tries but hes a softie and starts crying, using the whole of Crystal Tower as a speaking aid i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22467814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: Urianger is saying something, but Iphi can’t concentrate, the words are an annoying buzz in his horns, coming in through one and going straight out the other. He longs to wipe his brow and yet refuses to give into the urge; he has appearances to upkeep.Appearances that will be ruined within the next bell if Blanche doesn't stop licking her lips between sentences and leaning back against the wall in what is decidedly an enticing way.
Relationships: Blanche Latorre/Iphi Latorre, Warrior of Light/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Kudos: 8





	exigency

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elsword](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsword/gifts).



> im gay. wol/exarch swap is all i think abt recently oof

The Ocular, for all its cold stone and colder design, is almost uncomfortably hot. The Exarch exhales in a rush, eyes darting between the faces of his comrades — his friends — and his Warden. Now rid of her need for a disguise, she had opted for a less covering choice of attire, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her face, her neck and all the crystal winding over both of them and disappearing beneath the edge of the chainmail top.

Urianger is saying something, but Iphi can’t concentrate, the words are an annoying buzz in his horns, coming in through one and going straight out the other. He longs to wipe his brow and yet refuses to give into the urge; he has appearances to upkeep.

Appearances that will be ruined within the next bell if Blanche doesn't stop licking her lips between sentences and leaning back against the wall in what is decidedly an enticing way.

His robes cling to him and he knows sooner or later someone will notice his lack of attention. Better to cull the chance beforehand.

Iphi sighs and brings a hand up to his still-scaled horn. Leaning his head almost into the hand, he pretends to take a linkpearl call — a ruse he hopes no one notices.

"Excuse me," the walls say, chiming and echoing and cutting Urianger off from his… colorfully worded explanation of… something or another. "I need to check up on something. There's an urgent matter requiring my attention. I trust Blanche with any input from the Exarch."

He twists on the heel of his sandal and makes his way towards the back room instead of out into the Crystarium before any of them have a chance to stop him. His eyes stay pointedly cast forward, not daring to look Blanche's way anymore, fearing any of them to notice the heat creeping up his cheeks.

The door creaks closed behind him and he makes his way up the Tower's stairway, to the sanctuary of the room they'd transformed into a living quarters.

Once that door creaks shut as well, he slumps against it, letting out a shaky sigh.

Gods strike him down a fool, but his hand worms its way under his robes and pushes aside his breeches. The scales of his pouch part almost immediately as he runs a shaky finger over them, slick dripping to the crystalline floor in all-too-loud pitter patters. He can't get the picture of his husband out of his mind — after millennia spent seeing her covered head to toe in armor, seeing her wear something so revealing was too much for him.

Not that he hadn't seen her out of that armor in that timespan, far from it, but… but…

He feels silly in the back of his mind, the part that isn't focused on the feeling of a crystal finger dipping into his dripping pouch, worming its way into the heated flesh and easing the way for his cocks. Like he's back to the days of helping the God's quiver and the Conjurer's guild and hiding in his room afterwards to the fantasies of a young mind. Silly, silly old man.

He whines low in his throat when it's not enough, almost shoves another finger into himself and causes a new splash of slick to fall to the tiles beneath. He's surprised how hard he has to concentrate so the walls don't echo his need, don't betray him to the meeting still going on just a couple dozen fulms away.

With two shaking fingers, it's easy to coax his shame out now — he has to pull them out to allow the first one of the lengths to slither out, then the other, accompanied by a slew of slick that drenches his thighs. He'll have to clean up afterwards, else someone might slip on it — 'someone' being Blanche, and oh—

He sees her in his mind's eye, grinning at him with all those sharp teeth, teeth that she loves teasing him with, barely running them over his length so he'd shake and hold her hair tighter…

He fists the lower of his cocks, grip almost hard enough to hurt, and his hips rut forward on their own at the same time his head falls backwards against the door. Oh, imagine her right there, pants pushed haphazardly out of the way and top mussed up in their rush; her beautiful pink lips wrapping around his length, flushed even redder as she would bob up and down. He can perfectly imagine how soft her hair feels under his touch when he guides her, tugging at the long strands until they'd fall out of their braid.

His eyes fall shut, immersing himself in the fantasy as much as he can, breathing labored and stuttery. His hand, with as much slick as he's covered in, almost glides over his skin, even with how tightly he grasps himself. The other hand, flesh and scale, comes down to circle the other cock, both moving in tandem with each other. His fingers are too big, Blanche's are smaller, dainty and dexterous and so, so perfect.

Still, with his eyes closed and the memory live in his mind, he can almost pretend she's right there, the warmth of her mouth wrapped around him and driving him insane and making him wish it would never stop. But the edge nears him faster and faster, and even if he could stop his hands from gliding up and down, he doubts he actually could.

The heat and pressure mounts in his belly and more and more sounds leave his lips, still trying so hard not to let the tower echo his voice.

The others must still be down there, talking and strategizing, and they'd hear him if he lost even a single strand of concentration and let the Crystal Tower know his feelings and wants, and he would never be able to live that down, which is why he lets go of one of his cocks and slaps the hand over his mouth, even though that won't really help muffle him if his thoughts were read by the Tower, but it makes him feel safer, if only by a margin.

He misses the touch immediately, but the edge doesn't recede, and his other hand chases after it with slick sounds. He can still see his husband, her mismatched eyes glancing up at him, her lips stretched around his cock and her voice calling out to him—

"Iphi!"

He lets out a whine, bending forward against the feelings of electricity racing up his spine.

"Iphi!"

The door behind him jostles, and then disappears. With all the grace of a gnath, he falls backwards.

And doesn't hit the ground.

"Iphi, y'okay?"

Blanche catches him with relative ease, considering he wasn't expecting to fall, and she most definitely didn't expect to have to catch him. The hand he'd had slapped over his mouth reaches back and grips onto her arm as he tries to get his breathing under control.

"What came up, luv? Sorted it out?" she asks, doing her best to help right him up, until she notices his flushed cheeks and glossy eyes, and the hand he still has wrapped around himself.

Her lips curl up in a devilish grin, eyelids falling half closed in her signature smug look. "I see you  _ haven't _ sorted it out yet."

Iphi, very much embarrassed to be caught in the act, wipes the slick off his hand and tries to pull his breeches back up to keep even a shred of his dignity intact, but Blanche stops him, places a hand onto his.

"The others are gone now, ya can talk to me."

Iphi takes a deep breath, checks the stairway and closes the door. And no sooner does he than he pushes Blanche against it, bending down to kiss her.

The Tower needs no air, and passes his voice regardless of how long they kiss or how out of breath they both get. "You look… exquisite." The way the word echoes, it makes goosebumps rise on her arms. "I feared if I stayed a minute longer, I'd ravish you then and there."

Blanche all but moans into his mouth, fingers scrambling for purchase at the back of his robes, digging into the soft velveteen and hard leather. She can feel exactly just how much he means those words, poking her right there on the small of her stomach.

She gasps once Iphi has had his fill of her tongue and decided to let them both get a breath in. "Well…" She has to take a moment to regain her breath to even speak, and all the while he's looking her up and down and biting at just the edge of where the crystal splits his bottom lip and oh, if he doesn't stop that, she will melt. "Seein' as everyone's gone now, why don'tcha?"

That's all the encouragement Iphi needs, and he slips a hand beneath Blanche's behind and lifts her, her legs wrapping around his midriff on instinct.

"I think I will," he says, already busying himself with nosing the hood aside to get at her neck, peppering the skin with kisses. He carries her over to the bed and deposits her onto the covers, straightening up.

And stays there, eyes glued to her as she makes herself comfortable, and then shuffles a little bit when he still doesn't move.

"Well…? How's about takin' me, then?"

Iphi, instead of doing that, pulls the lone chair from the table that Blanche never uses, and sits on it, right at the end of the bed.

"I think I'd much rather see more of you in that outfit," the walls ring out. "Or, preferring you want to move along, you  _ could  _ help yourself out of it." 

Where once she wouldn't be able to place his signs as commanding without an expression to match, the crystalline tones of the voice all around them are nothing but, even though he's still smiling just as sweetly at her. Her heart makes a hard leap in her ribcage.

She can't scramble fast enough to start unbuckling her armor and pushing her pants down her legs. All the while, Iphi just sits there, staring at her with a hawk-like gaze, his mismatched eyes boring straight through her, and oh Gods, it’s making her feel like her skin is on fire. 

She dumps the pile of chainmail and leather and fabric off the bed, kicking her shoes off as best she can while crawling her way towards him, her tail lashing behind her in expectation.

She perches herself at the edge, looking up at him with almost-anxiety, and he sighs and chuckles low in his throat. “That’s enough teasing, I reckon,” he says, and the gentle smile is back on his face. He’s off the chair as if he’d never even been in it, and tugging his robes off. His breeches are still undone, still halfway around his thighs, and it doesn’t take much to kick those off, along with his sandals.

He leans over and presses their lips together, petting over one of her ears and running down her hair. The tie gives out with a single tug, leaving him free to card his hand through the long locks, only barely tugging on it. Blanche cranes her head into the kiss when he does, already all-too-eager.

“My apologies, love,” Iphi says, "Seeing you dressed like that got to me." He keeps peppering kisses to her lips, eventually moving down her neck, teeth barely skirting the edge of her Adam's apple. He relishes the hitch of breath he feels more than hears.

"Oh, Iph," Blanche breathes out, reaching up and cupping his cheek, running her thumb along the line of crystal running up to his eye, and then leans in to seal their lips together again. "Ya've no idea how much I miss ya wearin' yer dresses."

Her husband flushes. "I… still have a dress," he says, because he couldn't resist getting one, even though he's never worn it, had no opportunity while donning the Exarch persona.

"Oh? Yer full of secrets, aren'tcha? I'd love ta see it sometime."

This only causes him to flush even harder, and she drinks in every moment of it, loving how stark it makes his freckles look. He pouts for half a second before his grin is back in place.

"If you're good, I'll consider it."

He reaches towards the bedside table, pushing gravity to open it. A vial of oil he may or may not have already used half of flies towards his nimble fingers.

Blanche wouldn't admit it, but seeing Iphi using his powers has always made something inside her stir, especially when he's using earth-shattering powers for something trivial like getting oil to pound her ass into the bed. Which, okay, thinking about it, is not that trivial.

Her legs fall open to allow him a space between them, and Iphi eagerly takes it, decidedly not his first time on his knees before her. The vial is left forgotten for the time being as he remaps the path of winding crystal down her chest, fingers curling around the slight of her hips as he runs his tongue right over the edge of where the milky skin meets the unyielding crystal.

Blanche twitches under him — Iphi can't help the little curl of his lips, knowing first-hand just how sensitive that seam of skin is.

"Ya said you'd stop yer teasin'," Blanche grumbles, just as he reaches the trail of white fur leading to where she wants his mouth to be. This causes him to huff, even that little rush of air against her making her shiver at the prospect of what's to come.

Instead, he pulls away, looking down at her with fake coldness in his eyes. "I don't think I will," he snips.

The gravity around them shifts just as quick as Iphi's demeanor had; the mattress under Blanche dips further and her chest feels constricted. And she  _ loves _ every second of it.

Her hands twitch next to her sides, not budging an ilm no matter how hard she tries. She looks up at Iphi, who's looking back with a knot to his brows, biting down on his lip. There's her darling husband, unsure if he hadn't overstepped a boundary and waiting to see if she calls off the game.

What a silly man she'd have to be to do that.

She grins at him — her tooth glimmers in the artificial light of Iphi's aether lamps, as do her eyes, full of wonder and excitement. His gravity renders her arms all but useless, but it does not hurt and she's free to move the rest of herself and speak as much as she wishes, knows it's in case he does anything she doesn't like.

"Well then, looks like I'm at yer mercy," she chuckles, burrowing against the fluffed pillows and making herself comfortable.

Reassured, Iphi licks his lips and hides the little exhale of relief. As if nothing had happened, he leans down again and keeps going where he'd left off, biting small marks onto Blanche's hip before moving further down, much to her elation.

His lips wrap around her tip, tongue swiping the underside if only to grab the line of precum that had oozed out before. He expects her hips to surge forward, and so they do, burying more of her in his mouth.

Iphi's eyes fall shut, hand slipping between his own legs to wrap around his cocks. Even circling them halfway is better than just grabbing one, and he strokes himself in tandem of his head bobbing, easily swallowing her to the hilt each time.

Time becomes obsolete; he gets lost in his little reverie, drinking up each and every little moan and sigh that Blanche gifts him, cheeks hollowed and flushed, lips gradually reddening the longer he keeps at it. 

He could be doing that for minutes, for bells, for days or moons or an eternity, he doesn't know.

What he does know is at some point, Blanche's moans turn into insistent calls of his name, and he doesn't even realize she's coming until his mouth is filled with thick fluid. He swallows what he can, the rest dripping down his chin. Still lost a little, he keeps lapping at her, coaxing out a few last spurts that paint his cheek with white, and when she whines, he pulls off and lets his head fall unto her thigh, breathing heavily as he strokes himself messily.

He's the one whining now, hips rutting into his fist as he chases his own end, and it seems so close yet so far away.

Blanche gathers her breath, dazedly watching him and itching to reach out, to help. And finds she can.

The push of gravity is gone now, Iphi's focus lost from his little spell, and she's free to sit up, card a hand through his sweaty locks and guide him up, off her lap and into another kiss.

She is able to rile him up even more with naught but a few kisses and clever fingers skirting his sides for all of a few minutes, as his hand keeps going, making a mess of her stomach in the process.

He moans into her mouth, sound swallowed by her lips as she ravages his mouth with her tongue, mapping out every single nook and cranny she can get to, tasting herself on his tongue. 

"Luv," she breathes against his lips, both chiding and gentle, "This ain't teasin' anymore. This ain't even ravagin' me."

He — like the idiot he is — had foregone himself in his dumb attempt to make up for the teasing he hadn't even done properly. She'd roll her eyes if she had the willpower to do so right now. 

She bats his hand away from himself, and in the process almost makes him cry. He buries his head into her neck, his horn tickling the skin, and sobs, wrapping his arms around her chest to bring her as close as physically possible. 

She coos, patting around the covers to find the vial of oil he'd forgotten. Once she does, it's easy work to get it open and spill its contents over her fingers. 

"Shh, s'okay luv," she mumbles to him as she reaches behind and slips a finger into herself, taking maybe a few moments too soon to add another, but the slick aids the way as she works herself open.

The combination of cold slick and warm fingers is making her shiver, but Iphi's ethereal voice piping up hits her like a punch to the gut. A hot, searing punch that doesn't hurt.

"Want you," he echoes, right over his panting breaths, "Need you, please, please, Kovie."

And who's she to refuse his Exarch, when he's begging oh-so-sweetly. She pulls the fingers out of herself, feeling empty for all of a handful of seconds before she's lining herself up and sinking down onto his lower cock, so smoothly with all his slick.

For all his begging, Iphi didn't seem to expect to get what he'd wanted, or at least not this soon, because he seizes up, hands flying to her hips, where he grips almost tight enough to bruise. Both of them know she wouldn't mind, that she loves every little (or big) mark he leaves on her. She licks her lips, eyes glued to his face, to the way he throws his head back, the way his lips fall open, throat straining with a little choked sound that makes it out.

And— and the Tower echoes him, its aether heating like Ifrit's inferno, ready to devour her as surely as she already is him. 

"By the gods, I love you," the walls all but shout. Iphi's hips stutter up, into the welcoming heat enveloping him, seeking out more, as much as she'll give him. "Beautiful— you're always so good to me— my beautiful, perfect Warden— my light—"

The snippets of thoughts bleeding from her lover and bared for all to see, to hear… her being the only one in that  _ all… _

Each word makes her chest heat up, tighten it like a cage around her heart. Instead of letting all the shameful sounds lurking on her tongue out, she leans down, chest to sweaty chest with Iphi, to smash their lips together in a mesh of teeth and spittle.

It might muffle her, but not Iphi; the stream of praise — and mindless rabble — keeps up, maybe even louder now, ringing in her pinned-down ears even over the blood rushing in them and the beating of their hearts, so close and synched they might as well be a single organ.

"Precious— darling—"

Blanche's mind wanders, somehow in tandem with her hips, being guided by Iphi's grip, up and down and up and  _ down _ , hard enough to knock the breath out of her.

Had things like that always been on Iphi's mind during times like these? Somehow, just that thought alone is enough for a spike of pleasure to shoot through her.

Laying atop him, it's a little hard to worm her hand between them, but her fingers curl around them both at last, albeit only partially, and she starts stroking them, clumsy with the lack of space but no worse for it.

Iphi gasps into their kiss (if it can even be called that anymore), making the most wonderful of noises on top of the unending stream of words around them, gradually getting more and more disjointed.

They fall into a rhythm, Iphi snapping his hips up when she rises, to chase her tightness. But it's more than obvious he's nearing the edge — "Good— Good! Don't stop please please please never stop I love you!" — and she wants nothing more than to bring him over it.

Her teeth move to his neck, biting down at the edge of the crawling crystal. It's half possessive and half— No, it's all possessive, her need to mark up her mate mightier than any excuse she could come up with.

A crescent of teeth marks blooms on the dark skin, the crystal staying as pristine as ever, if shifting with Iphi's straining throat.

"Come for me, luv," she beckons, grinding her hips against his, seated as low as she physically can, and tightening her grip on them.

And  _ oh— _ come he does, with an arched back and a choked trill in the back of his throat. His top cock actually  _ jumps _ in her fingers, streaks of cum painting both their stomachs and making an even bigger mess of her hand. The bottom one she can feel swelling inside her, and she stills for but a moment to enjoy the feeling of fullness to its fullest. Heh.

Her brain is muddled, and as soon as she deems she has enjoyed the moment enough, she starts moving again, chasing her own release with a fist around just her cock now, smearing Iphi's slick and cum all over it and making the strokes even smoother.

She comes with a cry of his name, only adding to the mess that her husband has become. Her whole body shakes, legs aching with exertion, but the wash of bliss that overcomes her overpowers all of that and more.

When she comes to herself, she's a boneless heap, slumped on Iphi, with a cocktail of fluids drying between them, but she doesn't care enough to move. At least yet.

The skin and crystal is warm under her, and all she wants is to curl up right there and let the day's responsibilities melt away, but she knows Lyna can only keep people from the Tower for so long before someone gets concerned. With great willpower she pushes herself up, tail flicking wildly when Iphi's cum drips out of her, staining the sheets further.

"Get'p, big guy," she mutters, words lacking any weight if only because she goes to pecking Iphi's lips. If she enjoys him this pliant and soft, no one but her needs to know.

Iphi grumbles something unintelligible, but he moves nonetheless, already starting toward the adjacent bathroom for a washcloth at the very least. Blanche turns over, unheeding her own words prior and just laying there on the small patch of covers unsoiled by their coupling, definitely enjoying the sway of Iphi's tail and the sight of his now-closed pouch scales glittering as he wipes himself.

Her eyelids keep fluttering, and by the time he gets to her turn for the brief cleaning, she's already curled up, breathing slow and steady, and lost to the world.

He goes about cleaning her as gently as he dares, not wanting to wake her. Then it's back to his robes and staff and Crystarium, if with a spring to his step and a smile playing on his lips. 

He makes sure to pointedly avoid answering any questions the citizens have about the Tower's crystals 'singing' out all eve.


End file.
